


Hannibal Halloween

by cultmagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #HannibalHallow, (Not), 31 Days of Hanniween, Accidental summoning, Big Bad Wolf - Freeform, Blasphemy, Buffalo Bill - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Couples Costumes, Demon Hannibal, Dragons, F/F, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannigram - Freeform, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Movie Night, Murder Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, One Night Stands, Potions, Princess Alana, References to Clue | Cluedo, Suitor Margot, Talking Animals, The Crusades, The Enchanted Forest, Witch Will, cute costumes, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultmagic/pseuds/cultmagic
Summary: Daily prompts from the Hannibal Halloween - 6 Weeks of Creation calendar.





	1. Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack borne of too much coffee and not enough sleep. I also have the ACT tomorrow. Enjoy.

Sunday, October 1st, 9:48 PM

IllWill: so i accidently summoned a demon

CleverBever: hwat

IllWill: did you suddenly become illiterate

CleverBever: u accidently summoned a fckin demon W ILL

CleverBever: HOW

IllWill: so im not as good at ancient sumerian as i thought i was and well i accidentally invoked sumerian dark magic and now a demon is looking through my kitchen and making disapproving noises

CleverBever: i hate u so much wtf

IllWill: please help

CleverBever: im gettin the boys and we’re coming over

CleverBever: if i get murdered by an ancient sumerian demon im going to haunt you

IllWill: ill keep that in mind

 

Beverly stood in the doorway to Will’s kitchen, jaw slack. Zeller and Price stood behind her, looking equal parts fascinated and horrified. The man - Will was using the term loosely - snooping through his cabinets could almost pass for a human if not for the Hell deer characteristics he sported: black antlers crawling out of his skull and twisting towards the ceiling; fingertips tapering into talons; eyes the color of dried blood.

“You...you weren’t kidding,” muttered Beverly.

“I never kid about ancient Sumerian dark magic,” replied Will.

“Nor should you,” said the demon with a smile that could have been comforting if not for the fangs peeking from behind his lips. “Ancient Sumerian dark magic is a very serious subject.”

Price stuttered out a befuddled laugh. “Is the demon teasing you?”

“One must have a sense of humor to survive eternity in Hell,” the demon said primly. He went back to rifling through Will’s pantry. “Really, William, how do you survive in this house? You have no food, your seasoning collection is utterly dreadful, and the milk in your refrigerator has long since expired.”

Will shrugged and ignored Beverly’s stinkeye. “I eat a lot of Chinese food.”

“As a witch, cooking should come naturally to you.” The demon pursed his lips at Will. Will sort of wanted to kiss him, but also punch his stupid face. He felt the distinct sensation of being in third grade again.

“The last time I brewed a potion I lost my left eyebrow and half my basement.”

The demon smiled, slow and warm and terrifying by half. “Then I will take it upon myself to save you from any more hair loss.” He clattered forward on black, razor-sharp hooves, little, feathered tail flicking behind him. “My name is Hannibal, it is a pleasure the meet you all.”

“The pleasure’s all yours,” whispered Zeller. He huffed when Price elbowed him.

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Beverly. The twitch under her eye suggested she was tired of the banter. “With all due respect, Your Malevolence, aren’t demons supposed to bring famine and pestilence, not encourage healthy eating habits? Or is it true that the Devil created vegetables?”

Hannibal looked vaguely amused if a little offended. “I am not a Christian demon,” he said, the words coming out slightly strained and a touch bitter. “Christian demons are nothing but thorns in the side of humanity. I like to think I am above trite mischief and tricks.”

“But not above making a mediocre witch food?” 

Hannibal waved a hand in dismissal. “You are so much more than a mediocre witch, dear Will.”

Will decided to ignore the deliberately dense answer and skipped right to the important part. “You aren’t going to make me into the food, right?”

“Of course not!” Now Hannibal really did look offended, haughty like a wet cat. “I’m a guest here, Will, that would be terribly rude of me.”

“And don’t feed me any of my friends.”

“Quite reasonable.”

“Or my enemies.”

“...acceptable.”

“Then I think we will get along just fine, Hannibal.” And Hannibal smiled, full of sunshine and incisors. 

 

Wednesday, October 18th, 8:47 PM

IllWill: Bev

CleverBever: will

IllWill: i think hannibal is feeding me people

CleverBever: WILL

CleverBever: honestly whos even surprised

CleverBever: not me

CleverBever: send him back to hell will

IllWill: but it tastes really good

CleverBever: WILL

IllWill: and hes really pretty

CleverBever: W I L L I A M


	2. Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alana doesn't take anyone's shit and I love her for it. Also, the ACT kicked my ass, but I kicked its shins.

Alana pulled up the hem of her dress and trotted down the stone steps of her tower. “Hannibal,” she said, “are you a hundred percent sure they’re coming? I’d rather not get my hopes up again, especially after someone-” she shot a nasty look at Will “-decided he liked the dragon more than the princess and someone else-” she did not shoot a nasty look at Hannibal, only because she had to step around the boneyard Hannibal decorated the foyer with “-ate the cute entomologist.” 

Will smiled only a little sheepishly. Hannibal shrugged completely unrepentantly. “I did not find his intentions satisfactory.”

“You’re not my dad, Hannibal,” Alana chided. She crossed her arms and cocked a hip. Will smirked and ducked his head. Arguments with Alana were the best when he wasn’t on the receiving end of them.

“I don’t intend to be your father,” Hannibal soothed, “but it is my job - given to me by your father, might I add - to only allow you to leave with a worthy suitor.” He grinned, showing off crooked dragon fangs and that creepy forked tongue. Sometimes Alana wondered what Will’s sex life must be like. “But I quite like this suitor.”

Alana glared at him. “What? Is he a pretentious, self-righteous dick of a dragon too?”

Will smothered a laugh in Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal glanced out the window, then leveled her with a cool stare. “You are about to find out, Lady Bloom.”

Shortly after, the clop of hooves could be heard from the window. Four horses appeared at the tree line, each with a single rider. One was dressed as a knight, tall but wide and audibly yelling. Another had bright red hair and a journal and quill open as she rode. Another was sat so straight it looked painful and had a cane braced across his thighs. Another rode tall in sensible riding clothes, blonde hair pulled in a bun.

“Tell me the screaming one isn’t my one true love,” Alana groaned. 

Will laughed again. “No, that’s Jack Crawford. He’s security. The one with the red hair is Freddie Lounds, she’s a journalist. The one with the cane is Frederick Chilton, I’m not really sure why he’s here. Your girl is the one in red.”

“A woman?” murmured Alana. “Finally, someone got my letters.”

Hannibal leaned against the wall and smiled, smug as ever. “Her name is Miss Margot Verger. She’s the new heiress to the Verger fortune.” His voice became tinged with amusement. “I ate her brother.”

“He was a real piece of work,” said Will when he saw Alana’s intention to protest. “He literally drank orphan tears.”

“And he fed his enemies, real and imagined, to genetically modified pigs.”

“And he tortured people with this weird eel he kept in his chambers.”

“And he tried to steal Will’s face.”

“Not with magic, he did it manually.”

“I saved him, of course.”

“Shut up, Hannibal, you couldn’t have done it without Margot’s help.”

“And she would not be here without my help. Please, Will, stick to the facts.”

“Children,” interjected Alana, “the both of you.” She stared out the window for a few more seconds. “Should I wait in the tower?”

“If you want a minute alone with her,” said Will. “If you decide to go with her, this’ll probably be your last opportunity for alone time for a while. Being important kind of makes your private life into your public life.”

“You know this from experience?” remarked Alana. 

Will shrugged. “Everyone knew I was being paid quite well to come save the princess. I assume it was fairly big news when I didn’t come back.”

Hannibal straightened abruptly and brushed the nonexistent dust off his suit. “Please, retreat to your chambers, Lady Bloom. We will send Miss Verger up when she arrives.”

Alana nodded. “Right. Wish me luck, boys.” She waved and weaved her way through the decorative boneyard to the stairs, then stepped up quickly. Halfway up she could hear the door open and picked up her pace.

Inside her chambers, Alana straightened out her hair and reapplied the paint to her lips - a bright, bold red that made her look intimidating. Even if this suitor was a woman, no one was going to look at her like a damsel in distress. She pulled apart the back of her corset to try to loosen it a bit (she had been wearing trousers around Hannibal and Will for so long she had forgotten how constricting they were) and sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap and gaze firmly on the door.

The woman that opened her door a moment later had the calculating look of someone who had fought to stand where she wished and won. Her jaw had a pleasant roundness to it that almost bellied those cunning eyes and venomous mouth. Alana wasn’t in love but it was near thing.

“Miss Verger,” Alana said evenly. She didn’t let her admiration show on her face - couldn’t, not yet.

“Lady Bloom,” Margot replied. Her voice was soft, delicate, but held the same promise of danger that swirled in her eyes. Alana wanted that danger, wanted it more than she ever wanted safety or a home, perhaps because that is what the danger promised - home.

“Have you come to take me away?” asked Alana.

“Only if you want to be taken,” replied Margot. She approached. “Though, I imagine you do.”

Alana smiled, slow and coquettish. “It may take some convincing.”

Margot returned the smile with her own devilish smirk. “Luckily, I am very good at convincing.”  
…

An hour later, Alana and Margot emerged into the kitchen to find the Verger party and the Bloom guardians gathered around the dining table. Hannibal stood at the hearth, cooking in his typically flamboyant style. Will was engaging in hesitant conversation with the others, eyeing Freddie Lounds with particular wariness. 

“It’s more complicated than ‘I liked him so I stayed’,” grumbled Will. 

“There had never been such a violent, self-effacing courtship,” said Alana. All eyes turned towards her. “I can’t even remember how many times you two tried to kill each other.”

“At least four times each,” said Will. He traced a finger lazily over his stomach. Hannibal had a puckered scar on his side where a spear had been run through as retaliation. That was the biggest mess of them all. 

“Five,” chimed Hannibal, voice almost dreamy with reminiscence. 

Alana turned to look at Margot. Her tall collar was a little lopsided. “I’m leaving with Miss Verger,” she informed Hannibal and Will without turning away from Margot, who smiled faintly. 

Nodding slowly, Hannibal said, “I guessed as much. I will fetch a horse in a moment. I assume you will not be needing your clothing?”

“No, thank you, Hannibal,” Alana said just as Chilton said, “That won’t be necessary, we brought our own horse,” and held up a little box. Only Hannibal could hear the quiet whine of magic, but everything could see the faint blue glow surrounding the box.

So that’s why he’s here, thought Alana. She said, “Thank you all for letting me join you.”

Jack Crawford grinned, all big white teeth and intimidating cheer. “It’s our pleasure, Lady Bloom.”

“It’s what we came here for,” said Lounds, who still hadn’t looked up from her notebook, quill dashing across the page.

Alana smiled at everyone, then looked down. Will was watching her with guarded eyes and Hannibal still hadn’t turned around, no longer cooking with enthusiasm.

“Of course,” she said, “I expect the two of you to visit regularly if that’s all right with Miss Verger.” She glanced at Margot from the corner of her eye.

“I would expect nothing less,” replied Margot, answering smile sly.

Hannibal hummed, his movements picking up speed. “I believe that can be arranged.”

Will’s eyes were no less guarded when he agreed, but his face softened a bit. Alana counted today as a victory.


	3. Enchanted Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little darker. Also, my dog thinks small cars and lawn mowers are the enemy.

As a rule, the enchanted forest was off limits. All who ventured in were lost in the ever-changing maze of gnarled, blackened trees. At night, if they listened close enough, the villagers could hear the cries of their damned brethren. The parents of young children said the forest was haunted. The elders knew better; the forest was Hell.

The one exception was Will Graham. He had lived in the enchanted forest for the entirety of his adult life without complication. He lived in a cabin off the beaten path, providing for himself and his seven dogs with small game animals and fish from the nearby river. He never ran across the demons the villages whispered about, nor did he glimpse the Devil leaping from tree to tree.

He did, however, see a strange visitor every night. It became a habit for Will to feed and walk his dogs one last time at night before setting off into the thick of the forest to find the stag, a regal creature with dark antlers reaching out to the midnight sky and raven’s feathers mixed into a coat of black fur. Its eyes shined like a placid lake at night, reflecting stars only for Will to seek. 

He followed it, always, for hours on end. It never seemed to take him in any particular direction, wandering aimlessly through the trees and never halting. When the sun began to turn the night into a dim gray, Will would stop and turn back. This was the only time the stag would make a sound; it moaned despairingly until Will was back in his cabin, wails echoing through the forest for all the world to hear.

Tonight felt different. Will stood in front of his house, watching the stag’s breath mist and dissipate in even measures. Its stare was piercing. It called to him, pawed at the ground and huffed gently, but never made a sound. Will’s dogs sat patiently behind him, equally silent. Will rubbed Winston’s head and stepped off his porch. The stag began walking into the forest, never looking back to see if Will was following. It knew.

An abnormal quiet settled over them as they walked, Will only paces behind the stag. The chirp of cicadas was absent, the rustle of leaves was muted. Even the wind seemed to have fled. Will knew he should have been wary, but he dismissed the phenomena. 

Hours passed before the stag disappeared behind a wall of trees into a clearing. Will hurried to follow, but when he pushed through the branches, the stag was gone. In its place was a man who was not quite a man. He was dressed nicely, patterned, colorful suit filled with broad shoulders and lean muscles. His hair was blonde and graying, his face angular and cold. His eyes glimmered red in the moonlight.

“Good evening Will,” said the man, his accent thick. He was smiling. “Thank you for joining me.”

“It seems I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your name, though you know mine,” replied Will. 

“I am Hannibal,” said the man, “and I am the guardian of this forest.”

Will cocked his head. “The Devil, then.”

“To some,” smiled Hannibal. He shifted, beckoned Will closer. “Who do you think I am?”

Will was silent for several moments, staring at Hannibal with his brows furrowed. Finally, he spoke: “A bored child who finally has someone to play with.”

Hannibal grinned. His teeth were crooked and too sharp. “And play I shall.” He reeled Will closer and, under the light of the pale moon, whispered Will’s task between breathless kisses.  
…  
The next night, Will crouched in the darkness as a monster crashed through the forest. Randall Tier was young and slight and dressed in a suit of bone and horror, searching for blood and not knowing he would find it so close to home. He was foolish to come into the enchanted forest, foolish to think retribution would not come, foolish to think the guardian of the forest he had come to rape would not strike back. 

Tier stopped his wild searching moments later and looked up sharply. Will could sense the stag several feet away, grazing lazily in the undergrowth. A thicket of trees crowded around behind it, craggy branches reaching towards it like desiccated hands. 

A branch cracked under Tier’s feet as he moved forward and the stag’s head shot up, ears pricked and alert, then shot into the wall of trees. Tier dashed forward to follow but the stag was gone before he reached where it once stood. He growled in frustration when he found the trees too dense to penetrate.

Will took Tier’s distraction as his signal and leaped out of the shadows into Tier’s side. He felt the claws of Tier’s suit rip into the flesh over his ribs but did not relent. He ripped the mask off of Tier’s face, revealing the snarling boy. Will gripped his hair in one fist and yanked his head up, then down, finding some twisted delight in the thump of it smacking the forest floor. He brought the head up again, Tier’s face a little dazed, then down again, again, again, until the thump turned wet and blood covered his hands. He felt powerful like he had God on his side - and maybe he did.

Tier had long since stopped twitching when Will finally dropped his head, breathing heavily but mind clear and focused. He stood slowly, blood leaking sluggishly from the wounds on his torso, just looking down at the corpse he had made.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmured. Will turned to see him gazing back, red eyes full of mischief and affection. He held out a hand. “You did wonderfully, dear Will. Let me take care of you.”

Will stepped over the body absently and took Hannibal’s hand in his own, not noticing the smears of black blood he left on Hannibal’s skin, or how right they looked there. Hannibal’s other hand drifted up to touch Will’s face, running his fingers over his cheek with a tenderness Will did not understand. 

The sun was just beginning to rise as Hannibal laid Will to rest in his bed, bandaged and surrounded by his pack. Winston held Hannibal’s hand between his teeth in a gentle threat and all Hannibal could do was smile at the little beast.

Hours later a villager screamed at the mangled but just recognizable body of Randall Tier staged with his own bear suit. Hannibal smiled when he heard the screams and thought of blood in the moonlight.


	4. Mythical Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of abstract, not really based on any existing lore.

Something was very unusual about this crime scene. Everything about it felt fuzzy, like Will’s brain had been dipped in wax and left out to dry. Will stood alone in the middle of the woods, eyes cast to the ground. His hands shook, his eyes watered, his mouth went numb. His legs felt like rubber and he fell to his knees. 

The world took on a hazy veil of blue, dark like the sky just before night fell. Will felt as if he was floating, drifting through reality and breathing in water. His lungs were full, so full they felt fit to burst. His stomach was knotting, cold dread dropping in his gut like a stone. He could hear whispering between the beats of his heart, nonsense words and phrases that left him sinking further into oil-slick nothing.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he shot up through the fog and then he was looking at it, small and black and gnarled like a dead tree. Its sunken eyes were shiny red marbles that shone like beacons through the shades of blue. Dread welled inside Will before the creature darted into the trees behind it, swift and soundless like the wind, leaving nothing but faint blue smoke in its wake.

Will took off after it, stumbling over himself and following the trail only he could see. He could hear Hannibal’s voice calling after him, his tone urgent like he’s never heard before - or maybe he had; he couldn’t remember. Footsteps thundered after him, but he could barely hear it. His ears were filled with the rush of water, black and frothy and full of danger. His eyes were glazed over, barely seeing and never understanding.

He stumbled again and righted himself on a tree, but wasn’t able to push off before a body was pinning him to the tree, a voice in his ear to stop, it’s not there, nothing’s there, come back up, Will, Will, “Will!”

A breath caught in his throat and then he was coughing, choking, drowning in water that didn’t exist. Arms were holding him up, pressing him against the tree. Bark dug into his skin through his coat, the voice still murmuring unintelligibly in his ear, warm breath on his neck.

“Hannibal,” croaked Will. “Hannibal, it was there, I saw it, I-”

“Will,” Hannibal soothed, one hand splayed on his back and the other gripping his neck loosely. “Nothing was there, Will.”

Shudders worked their way down Will’s spine. “I felt like I was drowning.”

“You’re okay, Will. You’re here with me, you’re alive.”

A noise more like a sob than a laugh forced its way out of Will’s throat. “Are you sure?” He clung to closer to Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal did not answer for a long, agonizing second.

“I’m sure, Will, as sure as I can be,” he murmured.


	5. Big Bad Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrepentant murderous Hannibal is the best Hannibal.

Hannibal did not struggle as he was led to the altar, hands bound and muzzle secured over his mouth. A woman he recognized as the defacto leader Ruth Martin stood in the center, looking down at him with contempt and some strange measure of pity. Hannibal gazed back at her stoically. The sky had darkened behind her with premature dusk, a sign that winter was close. The crowd stood silently behind him, anger rolling off them in waves.

“Hannibal Lecter,” began Senator Martin, “for your crimes against the people of our community, we have unanimously decided your punishment to be banishment to the Black Forest.” Murmuring began behind him, growing louder with each passing moment. The senator held up her hand and a hush fell over the crowd once again. “Do you have anything left to say for yourself.”

The air was still for a moment before Hannibal spoke, voice muffled by the mask. “Did you say goodbye to your daughter before or after Jame Gumb used her body for spare parts, Senator Martin?”

An outraged cry emerged from the crowd. Ruth Martin’s face clouded over and she lifted her chin at him. “Blindfold him, take him far, and let him rot,” she commanded the guards on either side of him. They grabbed Hannibal’s bound arms and forced him across the front of the altar, away from the grabbing hands of the hostile crowd and towards the dark woods few people dared enter and from which fewer returned. They hoisted him onto the saddle of a large horse and tied his hands to the horn of the saddle. 

As they entered the woods, one guard rode behind Hannibal and the other in front. The jeer of the village faded behind them as they rode further into the forest. Neither man spoke to him and Hannibal thought speaking first would be presumptive. The air took on a chill as the sun set with a quiet finality. The songs of the night were absent in the forest. Hannibal could smell decay, ripe and pungent, emanating from the trees. 

After riding well into the night, the guards pulled their horses to a stop and dropped Hannibal onto the ground, one cutting the ropes around his wrists while the other held a pistol to his head. Hannibal watched them with detachment. Neither of them would be worth the effort of murder.

Hannibal only stood and pulled off the muzzle when the men took all three horses in the opposite direction, back to the village. He rubbed the skin that had been chaffed by the edges of the mask and smiled faintly when he heard the frightened whiny of the horses and the strangled scream of one man. The scent of their blood was sour. No, not worth the effort at all.

He began walking east, slow, ambling steps that spoke of confidence in his place in the world. The howl of wolves in the distance made him almost giddy with anticipation.

The footfalls of a man greeted him only seconds before the sharp aroma of life coated in a thin layer of death appeared. Hannibal stopped and turned towards the noise and was met with the face of a ragged man covered in blood and little bits of viscera, wild blue eyes still feral.

“Hannibal,” the man croaked, voice rough like he spent his days screaming. 

Hannibal grinned, all sharp teeth and dangerous intent. “Will.”

Will frowned. “You were caught,” he mumbled. He stepped forward but stopped abruptly. “You let yourself be caught,” he corrected.

“Hiding from the public became tiresome,” tutted Hannibal. He approached Will with silent, sure steps. “I was much more interested in who awaited my punishment.”

Wild blue eyes narrowed. “They could have killed you.”

“They wouldn’t have,” said Hannibal. “They were too scared of what would come after.”

Will huffed a gentle laugh. “You’re in league with the Devil, then?” he quipped, finally letting himself falling into Hannibal. Underneath the gore, Will smelled like earth and wet dog.

“Only the worst of them all,” replied Hannibal, carding his fingers through Will’s hair.

The laughter in Will’s face faded gradually. “Food will be harder to come by,” he said.

“No,” said Hannibal, fingers stilling and then gripping. “You’re not the only monster in these woods anymore. We will be fine.”

“So, what? The Big Bad Wolf and the Cannibal of Chesapeake Province are going to team up? That’s a little conspicuous even for you, Hannibal.”

“Ye of little faith,” crooned Hannibal. He pulled away, eyes red in the light of the half-moon. “Take me home, Will.”


	6. Knights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick preface: The Crusades were wars fought by the Latin (Catholic) Church for control of Isreal from the Muslims. I don't know if Lithuania would have been Catholic or Orthodox, but I'm going with Orthodox. Cathars were Christian dualists who believed, in a nutshell, that God turned his back on the earth after creation and the earth was really the Devil's playground. Probably set around the 13th Century.

Will’s sword clattered on the stone floor of the chapel and he sank to his knees in the middle of the floor. A foreign god peered up at him from the mosaic beneath him, pale eyes wide and forgiving, but that forgiveness felt like an accusation. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at the blood on his hands. His armor laid in a small trail behind him.

Behind his eyelids were the faces of the damned, blood-splattered and fearful. The midday sun reflected off his blade, mud splashing with the impact of limp bodies. The sound of a dying man’s breath, labored and wheezing, would linger with him until he died, and perhaps after if he was unlucky.

Praying felt useless. What good was worshipping a god for which he had to kill? It would have been redundant. 

The chapel door creaked open, then closed, and though the footfalls were silent Will knew to whom they belonged. His leather armor creaked gently as he kneeled next to Will, breathing measured and calm.

Hannibal Lecter, a count and one of the best fighters Will had ever known, stayed quiet for a respectful moment. “What is it about war that troubles you so?”

A heavy sigh left Will. “How do we know we’re fighting on God’s behalf? How- how do we know the Devil isn’t at work here?”

“Does it matter?” asked Hannibal, tone contemplative. “I find there isn’t much difference between God and Satan. They created, they judge, they punish. They are but spectators to humanity and only exercise their will once a life is finished.”

Will laughed weakly. “You’re beginning to sound like a Cathar.”

Hannibal smiled. “You only doubt me because I’m Orthodox.”

The light amusement on Will’s face faded. “I don’t doubt you,” he murmured. “I doubt...I doubt God, and the Devil, and the church, and myself, and my faith. How can I have faith when I’m surrounded by sins I committed? What power does the church have to absolve me? Any of us? What if we’re all damning ourselves and there’s nothing to be done about it?”

“Maybe God will see that we are being tricked,” mused Hannibal. “Or maybe it means nothing at all. Maybe all this killing is senseless and will only result in physical casualties.” He paused, licked his lips. The light from a stained glass window fell over his face, casting the shadow of an angel across him. “Maybe God enjoys killing too.”

Will dropped his stare to the mosaic. “I can’t live in so much uncertainty; it will drive me mad.”

“Then decide what you believe in, Will. The church holds no jurisdiction in your mind.”

Will looked at Hannibal again, mouth trembling and eyes pleading. “What do you believe, Hannibal?”

Hannibal pursed his lips. “I believe God did abandon us after creation, but so did the Devil. Everything that happens on this mortal coil is the product of free will and human nature.” He paused briefly. “What happens after is out of my control. Perhaps I will go to Heaven for serving God’s will, perhaps I will go to Hell for all the sins I have committed, perhaps I will go nowhere at all.”

He cast his unerring stare at Will, lips pulling upwards. “I also believe in you, Will, and your humanity - your light, your dark, your perfections, your flaws.”

Will froze in place. Hannibal gazed evenly at Will, eyes shining like rubies. “I…” he started hesitantly. “I believe that you are beyond me, beyond humanity. You’re godly, above this mortal coil.”

“You’re treading thin ice into blasphemy,” warned Hannibal, but a fire danced in his eyes. 

Will scoffed. “We are far passed blasphemy, Hannibal.”

“Do not worship false idols, Will.” There was an undertone of glee in his voice.

“Maybe the idol I have been worshipping was the fallacy,” said Will. “Maybe the only true idol is sitting beside me in a heretical chapel in the middle of the Holy Lands.”

“Do not speak in hypotheticals.” His mouth threatened to twist into a smile.

“You told me to decide what I believe, and right now the only thing that makes sense is you.” Will shifted closer and let himself lean on the solid wall of Hannibal’s arm. Hannibal shifted to accommodate him.

“Then I will do my best to be an idol worth worshipping,” said Hannibal. He grinned, devilish and sharp-toothed. Will was enthralled, happily.


	7. Potions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's a potion involved at least.

Will took a sip from his scotch. “Yeah, I dealt with a witch while I was on the force in New Orleans. Well, two, technically. A teenage girl accidentally summoned the ghost of her dead grandmother and I was the who served her the fine. The other one was...well, honestly, the entire situation was a mess.”

The majority of the team was sitting in Hannibal’s parlor, spread out on the various pieces of furniture in the room, the fire burning quietly in the fireplace. Alcohol had loosened everyone. Will had never seen Jack drink before, not really, but he was enjoying his wine as much as Bev and Alana were enjoying Hannibal’s beer. Price and Zeller were on a loveseat, finishing off a bottle of nice whiskey between them. Beside him, Hannibal was sitting on the same glass of scotch he started with, while Will was on his third.

“What happened?” asked Bev. She reached over to the table between her chair and Alana’s to get the bottle of beer and top herself off.

Will shuffled a little in thought. Somewhere between his second and third glass, his arm had made its way up to the back of the couch, fingers playing absently with Hannibal’s hair. “The guy was trying to bring his brother back from the dead. He said that vampires killed him, but I’ve never heard of a vampire turning someone’s flesh to dust before. Anyway, this guy, Tonio, he still had his brother’s skull and he was collecting ingredients for a potion that would bring him back.

“Started out as pretty innocent stuff: yarrow root, raven’s feathers, toad’s eye, the works. Then he started collecting human ingredients, which was what set us on his scent. He was harvesting blood and organs and bones and whole limbs. No one knew what the hell he was doing until, god, what was her name? Harris! Harris, she said that it looked like he was making Frankenstein’s monster, and the pieces just fell together.”

Will frowned, swirling his scotch before taking a swallow. The burn eased the words out of his throat. “We found him with the Frankenstein mostly pieced together, all haphazard and mismatched. I’ll never forget the smell, like a whole butchershop gone rancid. He was standing over it, holding the bowl with the potion in it. It was like- you know that liqueur, Chartreuse? It was that glowing green color, and the smoke coming off it was this, like, wheat yellow. 

“He panicked when we burst in and he drank it. We still don’t know exactly what was in it, but it definitely wasn’t for human consumption. It was like he was burning from the inside, screaming and letting off heat like a furnace. It just...dried him out. Burned all his insides to ash and sucked the moisture out of his skin. When the guys from the ME’s office tried to move him, everything but his bones just turned to ash.”

The room was silent save the crackling of the flame. Everyone was staring somewhere that wasn’t Will, except for Hannibal, who was always the exception. He gazed at Will with a sort of admiration Will did his best to ignore. 

“I found it fitting,” said Will, amusement curling his lips, “that he died in the same fashion as his brother. Sort of poetic, I guess.”

“Probably the best ending a guy like that could ask for,” said Jack, who, while not completely unsympathetic, didn’t really seem to see the happy ending in it.

“The moment of his death was the closest he had ever been to his brother,” murmured Hannibal. Will nodded, hands curling around the back of Hannibal’s neck, and thought of Eldon Stammets. Maybe there was something to his theories about connection.

“Death does have a tendency to bring people together,” said Alana. 

“What do you say?” asked Price to Zeller. “Wanna go out together?”

“Cyanide in our morning coffee?”

“That sounds delightful.” They high fived.

Bev’s face screwed up. “Keep me out of your weird suicide pact. I’m dying peacefully in my sleep, like a normal person.”

“Enough talk about death,” said Hannibal, who was enjoying the gentle pressure Will was exerting on his neck. “Let us discuss life instead. Miss Katz, when is your sister due?”

Will zoned out of the conversation, instead focussing on Hannibal and the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Death had brought him closer to Hannibal, and he knew it would bring them closer still. He squeezed Hannibal’s neck, at the base of his skull, and took another sip of scotch. Wondering whose death it will be would be fruitless because Hannibal always managed to surprise him.


	8. House Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a day and I'm exhausted but I want you to have this, even if it sucks.

“What makes you so sure he’s going to hit this party?” asked Bev. She straightened the wire taped to his skin under his shirt and jumpsuit. 

“I have a feeling,” Will muttered. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but he couldn’t tell her the whole truth. He couldn’t admit that he and Hannibal had a verbal sparring match the night before that drew from both of their darker parts and ended in useful insight, a dinner rife with sexual undertones, and vague threats of violence. 

“Must be a strong feeling,” Bev hummed, zipping his jumpsuit up completely. “All right, now you just need the mask.” She shoved a pile of off-white rubber into his hands. 

Will fumbled with it for a moment before finding the opening and wiggling it over his hair and onto his face. Black mesh covered the eyeholes. His vision was a little obscured but not enough to really be a problem. He was more concerned with the outside appearance. “How do I look?” he asked. 

“Like you’re going to kill my babysitter,” laughed Bev. 

Will smiled behind the mask. Michael Myers had been a strategic choice: the person inside was completely unrecognizable and the costume itself was unremarkable - how many other people were going to this house party dressed as Michael Myers?

Jack stood off to the side, watching distractedly. “We’ll have eyes on you the whole time, Will. The moment you give the signal SWAT will flood the house. You’ll be safe the entire time.”

Will gave the mask one final tug. “I wasn’t worried.”

Half an hour later Will was strolling through the open door of the house party in suburban DC. Lights flashed in dizzying strobes and people were shouting just to be heard over the booming music. Mystery alcohol in plastic red cups circulated around, more than one probably drugged and awaiting an unsuspecting victim. Frankenstein and the Bonnie half of Bonnie and Clyde were pressed against the wall next to the stairs. A skeleton and an alien were sitting on the stairs, holding hands and drinking from a shared cup.

Will wandered before heading upstairs, avoiding a handsy zombie Barbie and a drunk demon in lingerie that was likely not his own. Another Michael Myers tapped his shoulder with his plastic knife. He spotted an agent from the Bureau, dressed as Sandy from Grease, leaning against the far wall. He didn’t acknowledge her as he climbed the stairs.

After escaping the din of the crowd, spotting their man wasn’t difficult. He was dressed as Elvis, but no shoeshine black hair or ridiculous white suit could hide the darkness lurking in his eyes. Will felt the pull of it, the same pull he had felt since Hannibal had revealed himself, and murmured loud enough for the mic on his skin to pick up, “He’s dressed as Elvis, second floor.”

Elvis stood in front of the missing Clyde, one hand on Clyde’s chest, the other wandering beyond Will’s sight. The chatter of confirmation in his ear faded slightly as he passed Elvis, his senses honing in on the evil underneath. He made brief eye contact through the mesh of his mask and felt an unpleasant chill run up his spine. The darkness in this man felt like an animal, as opposed to Hannibal’s carefully manicured monster. Will ducked into the bathroom next to them and locked the door before pulling his mask off and leaning against the door to listen in. 

Elvis and Clyde were making grunting noises and soft pants when Jack’s booming voice started shouting, just in time for Clyde to make a strangled cry of pain. Will stepped away from the door as it bowed in with the force of Jack and Elvis against it. SWAT was finally there, shouting orders and keeping curious partygoers out of it.

Will sighed and dropped the mask on the sink. He knew Clyde now bore the bite marks of an aggravated serial killer and hoped the boy wouldn’t be too horribly changed by them, but his thoughts had already begun drifting towards his dogs and Hannibal and two fingers of whiskey before bed.


	9. Murder Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you write an interesting murder mystery short for a show about murder mysteries? You don't.

Will downed the rest of his scotch and scratched Professor Plum off of his list. He was already sure Colonel Mustard wasn’t the culprit, but Mrs. Peacock, Mr. Green, Miss Scarlet, and Mrs. White were still unaccounted for and Mr. Boddy was still dead.

“I’m in shock,” said Zeller, clutching his chest dramatically. “How is Will not good at Clue?”

“I can’t exactly empathize with an unknown killer, weapon, and location,” muttered Will. Hannibal chuckled from behind him but remained otherwise silent.

“So he admits that he doesn’t do real detective work!” cried Zeller, throwing his arms in the air.

Will groaned. “Yes, I’m really a witch and every time I catch a serial killer it’s the result of a complex series of spells and hexes. Ever wondered where those random pains come from? Voodoo doll.”

“And somehow witchy Will can’t conjure the real killer in Clue,” said Bev. “Also, Miss Scarlet with the wrench in the library.”

“It’s because I don’t have my scrying bowl,” said Will, levering himself up on Hannibal’s chair to refill his glass.

“Holy shit,” said Price, who then put down his note sheet and buried his face in his arms. “This is the third time tonight. Is she cheating?”

“I promise I’m not,” laughed Bev. She leaned back on her hands and grinned. “I’m just awesome.”

“Who’s the witch now?” grumbled Will. He leaned against the chair, making Hannibal look up from his book. “What’s so different about board game murder from actual murder?”

Hannibal smiled. “You grow too impatient with board games,” he said.

Will nodded. Ever since Randall Tier, he had been feeling rather tense and listless, just waiting for the next fight. He expected retaliation every time he turned around, but all he could see was Hannibal’s placid face. “I’m gonna sit this one out,” he told the trio on the floor. 

Bev muttered a sound of regret but was otherwise too involved in sussing out the new murderer to protest. Price and Zeller had identical looks of frustration on their faces as they tried to thwart Bev together.

Will lowered himself into the chair across from Hannibal and gazed at him for several moments before Hannibal looked up again and met his eyes. Will quirked a crooked smile and Hannibal smirked back, the two of them reveling in their own private murder mystery.


	10. Cute Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute? I guess so. Costumes? Oh boy, are there costumes.

The bell over the door rang as Will stepped inside, Hannibal close behind him. Row after row of costumes greeted him, exploding with tulle ruffles and leather coats. A man stood behind the counter to the right, hair long and curly, absently turning the pages of a magazine he was reading. There was a faint dog’s bark from the back room. The musty smell of leather reminded Will of his father.

Will wandered through the racks, observing the costumes dispassionately. Hannibal was making him take him to the FBI Halloween party, and as much as neither of them wanted to go (they had much more interesting plans that involved just the two of them, and perhaps one other participant), declining the invitation Jack Crawford had extended personally would be incredibly rude, or so Hannibal said.

So Will stood in front of a cowboy costume, running his thumb over the tan leather and wondering how soon they could leave the party without being rude. They could probably make their rounds, appear in front of the important people, then slip out the back and be home in time to enjoy a simple dinner and discussion rife with innuendo.

Behind him, Will could hear the man leave the counter and enter the back room, then the dog stopped barking. Will ran his fingers down the leather costume once more before pulling back, but then Hannibal appeared beside him and grabbed his hand before it could make its way down to his side.

Hannibal leaned close, still gripping his hand at the wrist. “There is something wrong with the hide,” he whispered.

Will’s breath caught, then his mouth twitched. He was quick to suppress the smile. “How do you know?”

“The smell.” He inhaled next to Will’s ear, lips brushing the side of his neck. “Like vegetable tannins and perfumed lotion. Roses.”

“We won’t buy from here,” murmured Will.

“No.”

“But we will come back.”

“Yes.” Will could feel Hannibal’s hand flat on his ribs, sliding down to grip his hip. Then, suddenly, he was gone and the owner’s footsteps exited the back room. The man had a small white dog tucked under his arm and a flower-print robe draped over his shoulders. 

Hannibal started towards the door, Will following suit, but stopped at the counter for a moment to pick up a business card. “We will come back soon, Mr. Gumb. Your leather is of excellent quality.”

The man, Gumb, beamed and crooned, “Why, thank you, sir. I tan it myself, you know.”

Hannibal smiled. “Even better,” he replied. “Now, we really must be going. We will be seeing you soon, Mr. Gumb.”

Will ducked out in front of Hannibal, smiling and reaching for Hannibal’s hand, letting their joined hands swing between them. Hannibal hummed softly and led Will away from Buffalo Bill’s House of Identities.


	11. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Movie night with the Scooby Gang.

Neither Will nor Hannibal enjoyed movies all that much. They both owned TVs, though neither got much use. Will’s was on a table in his living room, partially hidden under a pile of books. Hannibal’s was tucked away inside a cabinet in his lounge. 

Their aversion to television was not shared by the science trio, however, and that was how they found themselves coerced into a “Family Bonding Movie Night” with them in Bev’s living room. Cabin Fever was playing and Will was trying not to laugh at Hannibal’s expression during Marcy’s shaving scene. 

“This is undignified and medically inaccurate,” murmured Hannibal to Will, who had to slap a hand over his mouth to suppress his laughter. 

Zeller and Bev cringed away from the screen, Zeller going so far as to stuff his sleeve in his mouth and groan. “Why’s she still going?” he whined. “Can’t she feel it?”

“The flesh-eating bacteria probably ate away her nerves already,” said Price, looking consideringly at the flashing screen. “In more important news, Rider Strong is really cute in this.”

“Very true,” agreed Bev. “When he isn’t covered in blood.”

Will disagreed with the blood part, but he wasn’t about to share that with anyone but Hannibal, who already knew quite well what Will found attractive.

“Christ!” cried Price and Zeller a while later, followed by startled laughter.

Bev covered her eyes. “Oh, the harmonica.”

Hannibal frowned. “That’s not…”

“I know,” placated Will. “It’s not supposed to be.” He brought the blanket further around them. 

When the movie came to a foreboding end, Zeller popped up and said, “Fuck that, we’re watching Love, Actually and you’re not going to complain.” He pointed accusingly at Price. 

Price held his hands up in defense. “I like a good rom-com as much as the next guy.”

“That’s a lie,” muttered Will. Bev cackled.

Will settled closer to Hannibal as the opening credits started playing, delighting in how pliant Hannibal could be when he felt like it. There was always something soft about him in a sweater and fleece sleep pants, something almost vulnerable, and Will took advantage of it whenever he could. He snaked a hand around Hannibal’s back and gripped his sweater on the other side. Hannibal did the same.

Will was asleep by the time Liam Neeson appeared on screen for the first time, Hannibal following soon after, and Bev smirking as she took a picture.


	12. One Night Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God help me, I made a pun. Also, spooky Friday the 13th.

“I said to bring back a nightstand,” said Jack, gripping the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “A nightstand. One night stand. One. And you bring me back three?!”

Will looked on in distaste as the trainees in front of Jack quaked from behind the nightstands. He was only there to make sure Jack didn’t make a mockery of the Evil Minds Museum more than he already was; there was a certain amount of respect required of the people creating these exhibits and Will was determined to see that it was given. It was the least they could do, given the irreverent nature of the museum. But Will had a standing appoint with Hannibal’s dinner table in two hours and he needed to leave soon if he wanted to arrive on time - and he did, especially if he wanted to be at the dinner table and not on it.

“We didn’t know which one would be best, sir,” said the boldest of the trainees. She stood straighter when Jack’s scathing glare landed on her. “We thought you’d like to choose.”

“You thought wrong.” He grabbed the receipt from one of the trainees and breathed in sharply. “We have a finite budget,” he said, sounding pained. 

“Use that one,” interrupted Will, pointing to a box with a picture of a tall, dark stand with one drawer. It was the slimmest of the three. “That one fits best. Take the other two back, get a refund.” He looked in the trainees’ direction but didn’t raise his eyes farther than their chins. “When you’re in the field, you can’t bring three suspects back for your superior to choose from; you need to be able to make decisions.” 

Jack gave Will a long look before barking at the trainees, “Dismissed!” They picked up the rejected nightstands and scattered as quickly as they could. 

Will turned to the exhibited being built now. It was a recreation of Beth LeBeau’s room, though thankfully not a reenactment of the crime. Her parents had been eager to allow the Academy to use their daughter’s case as a tool for educating the public; if someone could learn from their misfortune, then maybe the world could be a better place, they said. Will disagreed. What could they learn from a girl with Cotard’s and Capgras syndrome killing a friend she didn’t recognize? Don’t develop mental illness? Maybe Will was biased, but he didn’t think the public could learn anything particularly important from this case. He said as much to Jack.

“They’ll learn to be aware of and recognize the signs of mental illness,” said Jack.

“They’ll demonize it,” replied Will. His mouth trembled with his anger. “If you want them to learn from something, use Zodiac or Bundy. Beth LeBeau and Georgia Madchen won’t teach them anything but fear and paranoia.” 

Jack didn’t try to argue with him as Will turned to leave. “So you’re just going to leave?” he called down the hall. “We have a job to do, Will!”

“You have a job,” Will called back. “I have an appointment with Dr. Lecter to get to, and you know he has a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy.” The door eased shut behind him, no matter how much he wished it would slam.


	13. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always leads to religion with these two.

Will thought he looked like a little kid dressed in his dad’s clothes, like if he unzipped his pants he’d find another kid’s face and the tips of his own shoes. The bow tie looked crooked no matter how much he straightened it. The mask on his face was black and intricate, blue veins running throughout. Hannibal said it brought out his eyes; Will was doubtful.

Hannibal appeared behind him in the mirror, dressed just as impeccably but looking much more natural. The tux emphasized his long lines, encouraging Will to touch. His mask was the same glossy black as Will’s but had red running throughout like rivulets of blood. The red in his eyes screamed out like fire. Will thought he could see the monster in Hannibal through his eyes, tapping talons against his pupil like a metronome, counting and waiting in rhythm.

Everything about this felt disjointed, juxtaposed. Will was a child dressed like a man. Hannibal was a monster hiding in a flock of people. Veins of blue ran through his mask, into his skin, moving blood and forcing his breaths. Red blood, red like the lines of his mask, red like the monster in his eyes, red like the world Hannibal was born into.

“You’re the Devil,” said Will, not taking his eyes from the mirror. 

Hannibal laughed, gentle and almost mocking. “What does that make you, Will? An angel? God?”

“No,” murmured Will. He held a hand out, palm up, and waited only a moment before Hannibal filled it with his. “I’m a witness. A disciple.”

“You’re as much a participant as I am.” 

It was incredible, Will thought, that the only time he could see all of Hannibal at one time was when he put on a mask. 

“Your person suit isn’t perfect,” he said, though he didn’t know why. Pointing out the flaws would do neither of them any good.

“It never was,” replied Hannibal. His head cocked to the side, hair falling into his face. He seemed boyish, mischievous. “And yet, here we are. So few can see the cracks.”

“By design.”

Hannibal brought Will’s hand up, closer to his mouth. “Life is terribly boring without someone to share it with,” he agreed. He kissed the hand he held, let his other palm burn into Will’s ribs. 

Will turned away from the mirror abruptly, looked at Hannibal straight on. He met those red eyes with a confidence only a mask could grant and leaned until his lips were breaths away from Hannibal’s. “I didn’t just see. I understood. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What you crave?”

“As if you did not yearn for the same.”

“I don’t deny that,” Will whispered. But he didn’t need it like Hannibal did, didn’t need the acceptance. Will was beginning to understand himself, accept the pieces of himself that had fallen between the cracks for so long. He understood that Hannibal needed him more than he needed Hannibal and he liked the power shift, liked the way he could turn anything in his favor just with this advantage. If he wanted to, he could break Hannibal, break what control was left, turn the manipulation of honesty back and crippled him. 

Hannibal could see the thoughts in his eyes and stepped away, gaze dark. No, Will reminded himself, he could not break Hannibal without breaking himself. Hannibal would not fall without bringing Will with him. 

Will straightened his tie again and said, “We should go or we’ll be late.”


	14. Couples Costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so love Clarice Starling.

The ticking of the clock in its wire cage and the mumbles of drugged patients were the only sound in the violent prisoner ward of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Insane at barely six in the morning. The lights were still off, leaving the corridor and cells in total darkness. Despite this, Will still knew Hannibal was looking back at him through the gloom. 

The lights flickered on at seven, waking any patient still asleep and revealing Hannibal to Will. He was sitting sideways in his chair bolted to the floor, eyes on Will with a little smile on his face. Will smiled back and shifted on his bed. They did not speak.

Barney came through with another nurse to slide the prisoners’ breakfasts under their doors. Hannibal and Will ate at their tables, backs to each other, as they did every morning. 

The scar on Will’s face, relatively recent at three years old, itched sometimes. He rubbed it and remembered their consummation, covered in blood and breathing each other in. He touched the smile, low on his stomach, and traced the sting of rejection that still lingered there. He could see Hannibal thinking about it as well, nimble fingers grazing his side, his wrists, the faint burn scar around his neck. It made Will smile. He left those marks.

The only scar they had in common was a set of teeth marks at the base of their left ring fingers. The legal marriage had been less an act of love and more a precautionary measure, should they ever have been caught (and they were, by Hannibal’s design), ensuring that they would not be separated. The scars had been Hannibal’s idea, an act of sentimentality that would have seemed totally out of character to the outside observer, but Will understood. It was a reminder of to whom they were bound. Love met by love, cruelty by cruelty, death by death. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

It was during their free time after lunch, spent with Hannibal drawing and Will reading, that Chilton, a patchwork of skin grafts and burns scars, would walk down their corridor, stand between their cages, and talk. He would mock them, laughing about their “couples costumes” on Halloween and rambling about the irony of their situation. He would boast about his book deals (Will had read all of his books, as had Hannibal, and made joint corrections that they sent back to the editor) and brag about whatever trashy magazine had interviewed him last. Sometimes he would bring with him news of the next brave psychiatrist or FBI agent who had come to have circles run around him or be outright ignored. 

Today, however, was different. Chilton came wobbling down the corridor with his cane, staying well away from the cells that lined the hall, and said, “There’s a pretty young woman here to see you, boys. She’s much too pretty to be with the FBI, in my opinion. Should I tell her you won’t be seeing her today?”

Will’s eyes shot to Hannibal, and Hannibal nodded discreetly, then leveled a cool look on Chilton with a courteous smile. “Please, send her in. What’s her name?”

Chilton looked surprised. “Agent Clarice Starling. She’s another trainee sent by Agent Crawford.”

“Wonderful,” said Hannibal. They both watched Chilton limp back down the hall then turned to each other. Hannibal grinned, charmingly crooked teeth glinting in the fluorescent lights, and touch the mark on his finger. Will did the same.

They listened to her footsteps, light but sure, on the concrete floor. The inmates spat obscenities at her, and Will could here Miggs beginning to plan her return down the aisle. Then she was in front of them, between their cages, a lamb led to the slaughter by her own sheppard. But the lamb has teeth, he thought, and watched as Hannibal came to the same conclusion. Their eyes met over her head and Will could see the twinkle of mischief in Hannibal’s eyes, knew it was mirrored in his own. They could use her to their advantage.


	15. Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get a chance to write yesterday, so you get two today. Also, I'm sorry, Monty Python. So sorry.

Will shuffled, his armor clinking. The knights in front of him turned to shush him, which made their own armor clatter. 

“Hypocrites,” Hannibal muttered from beside him. He was dressed in leather armor rather than metal, befitting a field doctor. Will wished he could be in Hannibal’s place - or better yet, at home. 

Normally, Will was a teacher. He stood in front of rows of men and taught them the wonders of science, dismissing religious protests and superstition as he went. He knew Hannibal from the university; Hannibal was there for a young professor who had collapsed during class, shaking and foaming at the mouth. Most thought he was possessed - Hannibal told them to refrain from diagnosing his patients and proceeded to force-feed the man a white powder. He regained consciousness only minutes later, disoriented but otherwise unharmed. For Will, it was love at first sight. 

And it was requited. Will and Hannibal had been surreptitious lovers for four years before they were called upon to deal with the Beast of St. Louis.The Beast had defeated a total of 124 knights by that point, including the King’s Guard. Will had been called upon to fight the Beast alongside four of his coworkers and Hannibal, ever the romantic, had refused to let Will die alone.

They had set out from Baltimore three days earlier and now stood on the edge of a clearing that spilled from the opening of a large cave in the rock face of a cliff. Bones littered the edges of the opening, white and clean. The smell of feces and flesh drifted from inside.

“The dragon resides inside,” said the knight in the front. He was one of the few professional knights left. Only four more professionals stood in the way of a field of complete amateurs. “Be prepared, men. This may be the last day you ever see.”

Rustling came from inside the cave, followed by an echoing boom and the shatter of bones. The knights tensed, armor rattling. Will stepped closer to Hannibal, fear turning his insides cold. He was totally unprepared for today to be his last day.

There was more rustling, like feet against grass, and then the Beast of St. Louis emerged.

The knights paused. “That’s a rabbit,” said a particularly intelligent knight. 

“Are we in the right place?” asked a steel-plated Latin professor.

“Yes,” the professional knight said, growling in frustration. “Now where is the bloody Beast?” He began to approach the rabbit. The rabbit looked at him, then roared.

A knight gasped from the back as the rabbit leaped forward and landed on the knight, knocking him onto his back. Will watched from where he was cowered behind the gasping knight as armored limbs went flying.

A hand grasped Will’s arm and yanked him up as the rest of the knights drew their swords and charged the furry Beast. Hannibal started pulling him the other direction. 

“Hannibal, what-?”

“I have no desire to be killed by a rabbit for a king I do not particularly like,” said Hannibal, “and I am not letting the creature take you from me. We’re leaving.”

Will, who felt no real compunction to die at the hands (paws?) of the devil rabbit, didn’t even bother to protest as Hannibal led him as far from the rabbit as he could. Maybe now they’d finally be able to move to Italy like Hannibal had always wanted and Will was beginning to see the appeal in.


	16. Powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, who doesn't want to talk to their dogs about their love lives?

Most people thought Will’s power was empathy. The assumption wasn’t baseless, of course, because of his knack with empathizing and applying it to solve murders. No, Will’s power was much less exciting, though significantly more enjoyable; he could talk to animals. Sometimes he hated it.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” said Winston from Will’s feet.

Will frowned and took a deep swallow of his whiskey, stifling his cough in defiance. “I don’t drink that much,” he grumbled. 

“Really?” said Buster, incredulous. The rest of the pack mumbled in agreement. They were too tired from an intense game of chase to really get into the argument. Besides, they all knew how it went.

“Yes, really,” huffed Will. He was a softly belligerent drunk.

Winston raised his head to give Will a doubtful look but diplomatically changed the subject. “Is Sausage Man coming tonight?”

“You know his name,” Will said, mouth falling slack into a dopey smile. “But yeah, he’s coming over.”

“Yes!” Priscilla cheered quietly from the puppy pile. Someone snorted in response.

Buster looked pleased. As much as he tried to hide it, Hannibal was his favorite of the Other People who came to Will’s house. Hannibal always brought the best food and always gave the dogs leftovers. Not that Will’s food wasn’t great - he made them homemade dog food, which was pretty great compared to their other owners - but Hannibal just had skill that Will really lacked. Plus, Hannibal gave Buster the best head scratches ever.

“Is he staying?” asked Winston.

“Yeah,” said Will.

“Then we’ll be on the porch until eleven. Don’t forget to pull the sheet up when you finish,” he said, primly, and let his ears cock in amusement when Will choked on air. 

“One time!” coughed Will.

“Three times,” said Max. He thumped his tail when Will glared at him. “You’d think you were an exhibitionist or something.”

Priscilla hummed. “I bet Hannibal is.”

Winston snorted. “I know he is. We all know who Sausage Man is when he’s not a head doctor.”

“His name’s Hannibal,” muttered Will. He was distracted by the car door slamming outside. The pack had heard the car drive up at least a mile ago, but played it cool so they could watch Will’s stupid, delighted smile light up his scruffy face. As much shit as they gave him, the pack liked how happy Sausage Man made Will. As long as Sausage Man didn’t make any of them or Will into sausage, they were fine with him.


End file.
